Firsts
by alexiroseni
Summary: A series of drabbles and scenes showing "first time" moments between George Knightley and Emma Woodhouse ranging from their pre- to post-book relationship.
1. First Sight

First Sight

EMMA

She doesn't remember the first time she saw him. To her, he was always there. Her Mr. Knightley; as opposed to John, who was Isabella's Mr. Knightley. And although some people might think it more proper if the order was reversed none of them lived in Highbury so it didn't matter.

GEORGE

He remembers the first time he saw her perfectly. His Mother were still alive and was good friends with the Woodhouses. Their families went way back. George was about to leave for school that coming fall and knew he'd miss the daily visits. Emma Woodhouse was born on a clear summers afternoon as was very appropriate. It was a week before Mrs. Knightley (who was not a healthy woman) went to see Mrs. Woodhouse. The boys (John was home on holiday from school) came with her to entertain little Isabella but George got tired of the running about games that his brother and Isabella liked to play so he had gone up to the nursery to see this new child. He wasn't sure why he did it. He guessed it was partly boredom and partly curiosity, for although he knew where babies came from, he had not seen a lot of them in his time. When he looked into the bassinet George found that what he expected and what he saw were two different things. There lay a little bundle of white and pink and yellow with bright blue eyes that seemed determined to take in the world as it was. He had only watched the small girl for a few moments when suddenly she burst into tears. Not knowing what else to do George picked the little thing up. She immediately stopped crying and just looked at him. He was shocked yet again. This was all so unexpected but not unpleasant. He wasn't sure what to do so he introduced himself.

"Hullo, I am George Knightley." He paused unsure how to continue. "I am your neighbor. It might seem that I am much older than you but that doesn't mean we can't be friends. That's if you want to be friends, of course."

Here he drifted off as Emma seemed to scrutinize him with her wide blue eyes. The nurse soon came in and was surprised to see a young man standing there, gently rocking baby Emma and introducing himself. That's when George came to the conclusion that with Emma nothing would be as he expected it to be and often it would be full of surprises. He decided then and there, as he rode back to Donwell with his mother and brother, that he liked that idea very much.


	2. First Word

**First Word**

-EMMA-

Emma did remember the first time she spoke because it was to her Mr. Knightley. She could not have been more than one year old when upon a lovely visit from the Knightley's to the Woodhouse's she spoke, in a firm tone it might be added, to one word to George Knightley.

"No."

He had been vexing her by tapping her shoulder from where she sat on the parlor floor parading several cloth dolls about. He had repeatedly tried to get her attention by this method but finally he had resorted to taking one of the dolls in his own hands. Emma had been determined to put a stop to it. So she spoke and looked at him with a severity that was well beyond her year. She remembered his smile as he had apologized and handed the doll back. After a moment during which neither party interacted with the other Emma stood and raising her arms was brought up into Georges arms and they spent the rest of the visit playing dolls together.

-GEORGE-

George remembers the first time he spoke and she actually seemed to comprehend him. It was just after his mother had died. She was past two at this point and was speaking in full sentences now. It seemed she understood the world around her a great deal more than other children did. But George also suspected he was bias. He and John were to go to the Woodhouses' after the funeral because Mr. and Mrs. Woodhouse insisted that they stay there awhile instead of at the huge Abbey. George knew that he would have to face it's emptiness at some point but for the moment he was happy to be surrounded by friends. As he came in the front door he was greeted by the sight of Emma standing at the top of the steps fidgeting with her black satin sash. She and Isabella had not attended the funeral

"What are you about Emma?"

"This silly thing won't stay tied. I don't know why we have to wear black and no one will answer me when I ask. And where have you been? It's a good deal past the time for your daily visit. I'll have to speak to your mother about it."  
She looked so put out that at any other moment George would have laughed. Emma must have known this for when he didn't laugh her face grew grave and she took a few more steps down to the entryway where he stood.

"Mr. Knightley, what has happened?"

He sighed that no one had told her but at the same moment he was glad it was he and not another who she looked to for answers.

"Emma, my mother is no longer here."  
She paused on her descent, small feet have taken each stair first by one and then the other, and looked at him with confusion and then with great clarity. Suddenly she was down the stairs and in his arms in a flash.

"Oh, Mr. Knightley, I am sorry."  
He felt her small arms tighten around his neck and he almost cried.

"She was so very nice to everyone. I shall miss her."

George set her down and patting her head replied "So will I."


	3. First Tears

**First Tears**

-EMMA-

Of course she had cried before but never like this. She didn't really understand why it had happened but she knew her mama was gone. That is a very hard thing to face, especially when you are not yet three. It had been sudden and brief and shocking. And now Emma was in black again, a color she despised, but this time everyone was paying attention to her as opposed to ignoring her. She decided she liked being ignored much better. Everyone seemed to want to hug her and comfort her but she didn't know half of the people and all she really wanted was her Mama. But her Mama was gone. Like Mr. Knightley's.  
So Emma had hidden under the table in the back sitting room and cried until she felt all cried out only to start up again in another few minutes.

"I thought I'd find you here." It was not Miss Taylor as little Emma had expected to come collect her. It was Mr. Knightleys voice, his face that appeared when the tablecloth was pushed aside. "Do you want to come out from under there?"

Emma nodded and reached her small pudgy arms out to him. When he had picked her up and wiped her nose with his handkerchief Emma buried her small face in his neck and let out a small sigh. Just as she had comforted him when he'd lost his mama Emma let her Mr. Knightley comfort her.

"You still have your Papa and Isabella and Miss Taylor."

"And you. You won't leave me will you?" She looked at him with all the seriousness she could muster.

"No. I'll stay here with you."

"Good." And with that she went back to hiding her face in his neck but she didn't start crying again.

-GEORGE-

He wasn't a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve but George never forgot the one time Emma caught him with tears in his eyes (Mostly because she wouldn't let him). But then his only brothers wedding was a fine reason to have a few unshed tears blur his vision. He wasn't averse to change, it was just that he never expected it. So when John mentioned that he meant to ask for Isabella's hand in marriage George had given his blessing in a state of shock. The time flew by until he was standing next to John before the old Vicar. And as he watched them drive away for their trip to France George felt a finger jab him in the side.

"You are getting old. Look at you, misting up like an old matron. I do believe you have gotten soft." Emma, then only 13 years old and still wearing her hair down, poked him again and George couldn't help but snatch her wrist.

"Emma..." He heard himself use his warning tone as she called it.

But Emma smiled and taking her hand from his grasp gently touched his shoulder. "Mr. Knightley, I only am trying to make you smile."

George lost any irritation he felt at her the moment she smiled up at him. "Come on then, let's go comfort your Father. I am certain he will want to see you."


	4. First Names

**First Names**

EMMA

She only called him George once. It should be made clear that after Isabelle and John were wed and moved to London for his work Mr. Knightley continued the brothers' daily routine of walking from Donwell to Hartfield to see the Woodhouses. Life had a regularity to it that Emma simply loved. She'd do lessons with Miss Taylor in the morning, have luncheon, and then spend the afternoon on household matters or practicing her pianoforte or sketching. Mr. Knightley would arrive by mid-afternoon, talk with her father and write any letters her Father needed to be written, then he would sit in his chair and read. He'd often stay for dinner. If Emma went out to make calls or go to the store he was there when she got back. And so at only 13 years old she found herself on very close terms with a man twice her age.

She was naturally precocious and Mr. Knightley's presence simply (and unbeknownst to him) augmented that precocity. He was an incessant tease and a true critic and Emma almost despised him for it. He was always saying things like: "You played that piece like you were running a race" when she would practice the pianoforte or "Well, now, that ribbon does make all the difference" when she held things up to fix her hair. He'd harp on her whenever she complained about how she was stuck at home and it was on one such occasion that she first called him by his Christian name.

"Clara Bening and her family are moving to London." Emma sighed as she plopped onto the sofa in a very unladylike manner after returning from calls one sunny afternoon. Miss Taylor gave her a severe look and Emma righted herself. Mr. Knightley didn't look up from the paper he was reading.

"I said the Bening Family are moving to London." Emma leaned forward to catch his eye.

Mr Knightley look up briefly said simply "I heard you the first time" and then went back to reading.

Emma huffed and sat back on the couch, staring at the ceiling for a time before commenting in a low tone "It simply isn't fair."

Mr. Knightley looked up and an odd look passed between him and Miss Taylor. The latter shrugged slightly and then nodded her head towards her young charge. Mr Knightley sighed and closed his paper.

"What is so unfair Emma?"

Emma sat bolt up and looked him in the eye. "That everyone gets to go to far off places and I stay here. I haven't seen Isabelle in several months."

Mr. Knightley rolled his eyes at her. "Some people are just meant to stay in one place longer that others are. You are one of those people Emma."

Emma stood up so she was eye to eye with him and crossed her arms "Easy for you to say, _George, _you go to London all the time."

Mr. Knightley blinked for a beat and then shook him head. "For business, Emma, not for fun."

"I don't see what difference it makes." She huffed then marched out of the room and sat down at the pianoforte. She'd didn't play it well but that didn't mean she didn't like to. She placed her hands appropriately on the keyboard and let out all of her emotions pour into her music. Some people were simply infuriating.

"That came out well." Mr Knightley stood in the doorway to the music room.

"Thank you, Mr. Knightley." She replied. A look came into his eyes that Emma couldn't place but then it was gone. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"If I am invited." He replied with a smile.

"You are always invited. I'll tell Ellen to set you a place." Emma got up and brushed past him to go to the dining room. He patted her head as she passed and Emma noticed that although she was getting taller he was still a good head and a half taller than she. Perhaps she'd always need to tilt her head back in order to look him in the eye.

GEORGE

He called her Emma all the time.

Sometimes it was in a sentence such as:

"Emma, what are you doing?"

"You can not be serious Emma."

"And just where are you headed Emma?"

Sometimes it was accompanied with her last name as in:

"Emma Woodhouse, does your Father know what you're up to?"

"Emma Woodhouse, that is not the way a lady talks."

or just plain: "Emma Woodhouse!"

Sometimes it was said all by itself. "Emma." As when he needed her full attention or when she surprised him or when he wanted to surprise her or when he was happy to see her.

To George Knightley, Emma Woodhouse's name was a curse and prayer that he uttered more often than he could ever hope to count.


	5. First Lesson

First Lesson

-EMMA-

She was managing a house at thirteen. Emma soon found that Miss Taylor was more of a companion than a governess and Miss Taylor, although wonderful as a companion, was not the strictest of governesses. Not that it mattered. Emma learned what needed to be learned, be it from her lessons or from her keen observation of people.

She learned from her Father how to care for those around you to a fault and how to express you opinion in a manner that was friendly to all.

She learned from Isabelle how to admire others and complement them just right.

She learned argumentation and debate skills from John Knightley and when to keep one's opinion to oneself for fear of sounding as quarrelsome as he.

She learned gratitude from Miss Bates and when to keep one's tongue from rambling for fear of sounding as silly as she.

She even learned competitiveness from Jane Fairfax though having never met the girl.

She learned much from observing Miss Taylor. For example she learned how to talk to people of every station, how to care about people she barely noticed, how to smile when you were tired or taxed.

However she learned most from Mr. Knightley. He taught her concrete things such French and Chinese by talking to her in those languages. He corrected her sums and told her to read more. He taught her true decorum. A single look told her when to stand up, fix her posture, smile and offer her hand, to not speak but when spoken to, to allow her Papa space, to be patient with the maids, to thank Miss Taylor

and then list went on.

He also taught her smaller, less concrete lessons that Emma never forgot. Highbury was not full of people her own age or station. This vexed Emma most of all after she had turned fifteen and the few families who had young ladies her age went to London for the Season.

"It's not that I really care..." She muttered into her needlework ending a rather long rant to which she was certain Mr. Knightley wasn't even listening to.

"But you do care."

She looked up to see his eyes on her over the paper he was reading in his usual car.

"I do." She freely admitted.

"Emma, there is nothing wrong with caring."

Emma rolled her eyes but that got her a severe glance from him. "I'm sorry. But you and Miss Taylor are always telling me to not complain and to be grateful for what I have."

"Ah, of course we are but I have never told you to stop caring about something. Just make sure you don't let it get to you. When you are a mope you are very difficult to be around." His eyes glinted with the tease he had spoken at the end but Emma learned that day that he did listen...and that he wanted her happiness more than anything. And that was a very pleasant thought for a girl of fifteen to have.

GEORGE

He was managing an entire estate at the age of nineteen (after only two years of school) after the passing of his Mother. He couldn't quite recall his father, as the man had died when George was only 7. So Donwell Abbey was his, was him. He gave his entire life to make it successful. He did it to satisfy his manly pride that he could conquer something. He did it to prove to others that although his schooling had been cut short he was still a shrewd businessman. He did it to provide for those who depended on the abbey. He did it because Emma had taught him the lesson of giving back. Her sister was wed leaving the running of the house in Emma's small thirteen year old hands. George had already been Master of Donwell for a decade. One afternoon Emma sat balancing the books when he arrived for his daily visit.

"See now you have a practical application for all that arithmetic Miss Taylor had imparted on you." He leaned over the back of the chair she sat in.

"That you imparted on me." Emma gave him a small smile but didn't look up from the ledger. "Though I wish we could do without sums and money and credit. I think we should go back to trading goods like I have a cow and I give you milk for your chickens."

George laughed as he watched her add up some numbers on a scrap of paper."Hmm, yes, well then we'd have to sell you to get the really important things like a carriages and horses."

"Mr. Knightley." Emma managed to cram all her disapproval into how she said his name.

"Miss Woodhouse." He imitated her exactly but she ignored him. She rang the bell and in came the cook.

"Sophie, did you remember to get the apples from Denison?" Emma asked.

"I did. They'll be ready by tomorrow."

"Thank you. Dismissed."

George's brow furrowed. "Emma, I gave you apples just two days ago. Surely you don't need more than what I gave you."

Emma looked perplexed and then smiled slightly up at him. "Oh, the apples aren't for us. Mrs. Linley's family in sick and all the children can stomach is applesauce. I would have used your apples but when I asked they had all been packaged and sent out. So I had to make do with Denison's."

George frowned a bit more. "Who is Mrs Linley?"

"Hmm?" Emma looked up at him distracted. "Yes, she's Chloe Linley's, that new serving girl I hired, Mother. I met her when I visited the Clark's, my lady's maid's family, on Tuesday."

"Oh." George didn't remember a new serving girl nor did he understand quite so much why Emma was sending this woman she'd just met applesauce. "And you said I didn't have anymore apples."

"Exactly. Mr. Knightley, weren't you listening?"

"I was." George replied forcefully.

Emma cocked her head to the side and smiled. "Will you stay for dinner?"

"I can't I have some business to attend to." George's head was far away.

"Alright. Make sure you see Father before you go." And she went back to her ledger.

As he walked home two thoughts struck him. He'd never seen Emma so diligent about anything and second that she seemed to know a great deal more about the few employee's she had then he did about his entire estate. He hadn't meant to overlook them but he assumed that what he payed them was sufficient. He was a businessman in contract with other businessmen. But maybe he should also be a human and find out about the humans he employed and what they might need.

He was also going to make sure there were always extra apples in case Emma needed them.


	6. First Laugh

**First Laugh**

EMMA

She had made him laugh her whole life. And it drove her batty. He derived much too much pleasure from laughing at her. He always said he was laughing with her but it wasn't true. He was laughing at her. Then, one day, it changed. Like when you wake up in early May and suddenly it's spring. Emma woke one day to find, for the first time, that his laughter was not something she loathed but something she wanted to hear. She was 18 now, an official adult, the age gap between she and Mr. Knightley seemed to have shrunk. Soon she found herself testing ways to make him laugh. If she said things a certain way when talking to Miss Taylor the paper he hid behind would shake. If she sighed and huffed over household details he would raise a comic eyebrow and she could hear him snigger. But her real triumph was when she hosted dinner parties. She entertained her guests with poise and cheerfulness so that in the midst of a hall ringing with jovial voices she could pick out his baritone and smile to herself for a job well done. A dinner party was only a ever success if she could get Mr. Knightley to laugh.

GEORGE

He couldn't say why he liked her laugh so much, indeed he could not say that liked it at all until that fateful day when it was missing. He had been in London, visiting John and Isabella, when Miss Taylor became Mrs. Weston. That evening he had walked the path to Hartfield, thinking all the while of Emma and her "triumph" as she called it, he could picture how she must have spent the day glowing as brightly as Mrs Weston.

When he arrived, however, Emma was sitting her father down to his nightly bowl of gruel and there was no brightness in her cheeks or eyes. He exchanged greetings and assurances that he had not gotten his feet dirty on the way over with Mr. Woodhouse and took his normal seat. Emma told him about the wedding but he could not see any of her pre-wedding enthusiasm. Mr. Woodhouse alluded to Emma missing Mrs. Weston and it dawned on him that her laughter was missing for that reason. And why not, she had said farewell to her closest friend and only mother figure.

Maybe it was the tears he saw threatening to fall from her eyes but he spoke tenderly to her father about how Emma's sacrifice was a good one and for that reason they liked her so well. Emma turned to smile at him in gratitude and her smile made him smile. She then proceeded to expound on her "triumph" of making the match so George allowed himself to tease her over it and was rewarded by her laughter.

"And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess? I pity you. I thought you cleverer..."

She kept talking, eyes bright and smile wide, but George found he was not thinking so much about what she said but the laughter with which she said it.


	7. First Friend

First Friend

EMMA

If asked Emma Woodhouse, age 21, would have said that Harriet Smith was her dearest friend, Mrs. Weston her sweetest confidante, Frank Churchill was her favorite mystery, and Jane Fairfax the single most annoying person she knew of.

She would not have known what to call Mr. Knightley. She had always known him and now they're only siblings were married so she assumed they were like brother and sister. She hesitated to refer to him as such because saying it out loud would have been odd.

In her diary she called him her oldest and dearest friend but she knew that several of the ladies thought it was unseemly the amount of time Mr. Knightley spent at Hartfield. Emma was not so unaware as to not care what those ladies said but was not so self-aware to change because of anothers opinion.

She had people she associated with like Mr. Elton. She did not call him her friend. He was good company for her father and later when she and Harriet had become friends he was the constant subject of conversation. Speaking of Harriet, the dear girl was another good friend. She was so pleasant, so agreeable that Emma found she could relax.

There was only one subject Harriet had had a hard time understanding. It came out one day when they were walking in the gardens. Mr. Knightley could be seen approaching from Donwell Abbey.

"He's later than usual but then it's Thursday and with the rain we've had some of the tenants must have had flooding so that would have kept him longer." Emma commented as she waved at Mr. Knightley until he saw her.

"I wonder that you know his work so well." Harriet spoke in a way that suggested she didn't realize she'd spoken aloud.

Emma didn't understand why but she felt resentment at Harriet's tone. Did Harriet think her friendship with Mr. Knightley improper? "Well, I have known him my whole life and he is my brother in law."

"Of course. I forget that. It's just he is such a gentleman I don't think of him as being friends with..." Harriet's voice dwindled away as she and Emma turned to keep watching his approach.

"Well he certainly is a gentleman but he is also human. I shouldn't like to have him over if he wasn't human. What a bore."

"Who is a bore?" Mr Knightley had caught up to them as they approached the back door.

"You are." Emma smiled at him. She and Harriet curtsied in welcome. Mr. Knightley smiled and bowed back.

"You don't mean that Emma. Miss Harriet you must discontinue your visits if Emma continues to lie. She'll corrupt you." Mr. Knightley winked at Emma.

Emma scrunched her nose up in a way she knew he thought was unattractive. "You are simply awful sometimes."

Mr. Knightley just smiled wider. "Is your Father home?"

Emma nodded. "He'll be in the sitting room. Are you staying for dinner? Mr. Elton is coming."

Mr. Knightley frowned. "No, I can not stay. Business is pressing. I'll write your Fathers letters and then I have to be back."

Emma felt her heart sink. She'd hoped to claim his attention with the dual purpose of pushing Harriet and Mr. Elton together and seeing if she could get an invitation to visit Donwell to play the pianoforte.

"Ah, well. Maybe, after the rain, I can convince Father to visit you at home."

Mr. Knightley nodded. "My pianoforte misses you."

"Fiddlesticks." Emma shook her head at him as her heart warmed. "Harriet and I must go change for dinner."

"I'll see you then."

Emma nodded and curtsied. Harriet followed her in.

Dinner that night was duller than usual because there was no one to make laugh.

GEORGE

When he thought about it George had to agree that seventeen years was a large gap. He was closer in age to the now Mrs. Weston. And yet he had never felt drawn to her the way he felt drawn to Emma. It wasn't that he felt ill at ease with Mrs. Weston but their interactions were more formal and generally centered around Emma. In fact whenever he didn't know what to do about Emma, such as when she started her friendship with Harriet, he found himself going to Mrs. Weston discuss his worries.

"I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston, of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I think it a bad thing." He had found himself at the Weston's one fine autumn morning without really meaning to be there. He had ridden into town to post letters, saw Emma and Harriet walking arm in arm from Mrs. Goddard's (they had not seen him) and after posting his letters had not returned to the abbey but gone to the Weston's. He needed to know what Mrs. Westons thought.

"A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?—why so?" Her voice was surprised and her eyebrows nearly touched her hairline.

George sighed pulling a hand through his hair. "I think they will neither of them do the other any good."

The conversation that followed served only to discourage him more and more. Emma was said to be bright, lovely, dear and not so very vain. Harriet was said to be...nice. George, himself, was said to be a meddler.

"A partial old friend." He muttered to himself as he rode back to the abbey. "I am partial to her but that is why I can not stand to see her waste her time with idleness and harmful things."

He arrived home and dismissed the groom so he might have something to do with his hands. He was feeling restless despite the mornings activities. "She says she'll read more and she does not. She says she'll never marry and yet I think she will. Why can she not say what she means and do as she says? and why the blazes am I talking aloud to myself?" For indeed, George Knightley was not one to talk aloud to himself unless it was about Emma Woodhouse.

He arrived at Hartfield as early as he thought proper. He found Emma at her pianoforte, plinking the keys absentmindedly and looking over her collection of music. He cleared his throat to alert her of his presence.

"Mr. Knightley!" Emma stood to curtsy, papers held to her chest. "You startled me. But I am so glad you are here. Guess what came in the post today?"

"Was it, by any chance, new music, perhaps from a new opera?"

Emma grinned from ear to ear, her hazel eyes sparkled, her cheeks full and bright, everything about her form and face endeared her to him. She was the most pleasing creature he knew.

"When did you buy it and why did you not just bring it here your self?"

George laughed as she sat again at the pianoforte and he took to one of the chairs that was nearby. "Well, I remember having a conversation about how lovely it is to get things in the post and I was afraid that I would wrinkle the pages during my ride back from London."

Emma simply rolled her eyes. "Now you must leave because I don't want you to hear me play your music until I am certain you won't tease me about it."

George was reluctant to rise now that he was comfortable but he did so and went to look for Mr. Woodhouse and the newspaper.

* * *

A/N thank you to the reviewer who pointed out my inconsistencies. I went back a fixed them: George's Father died when he was 7 and his mother when he was near 20 and Emma barely 2. Emma's mother died when she was 3 and he was 21. I checked the book this morning and it's not exact on those ages so I picked them because they suit me.


	8. First Argument: The Before

First Argument - Before

**EMMA**

It has been said that in order to truly know another person it takes one thousand days. Simple arithmetic will lead to the following conclusions about Emma's acquaintances and friends as she recorded in her journal.

1000 days = roughly 2 years and 22 days.

Father - 8000 days give or take

Mr. Knightly, Isabella, John - the same

Mrs. Weston - about 6000 days

Mr. Weston - about 2000 days

Mr. Elton - about 500 days

Harriet - exactly 128 days

And if that phrase was true then Emma could not support the claim that she knew Harriets (and for that matter Mr. Elton's) heart better than they did themselves. For relationships and life were not merely products of mathematics. Indeed, in matters of the heart, there were many other things to be considered. And so it was that Emma decided to try drawing Harriet's likeness. Harriet was so very pretty. Mr. Elton was so encouraging. It seemed an excellent idea.

Until Mr. Knightley found her.

"So you have taken up the pencil again?"

Emma, having been distracted all afternoon by Mr. Elton and even by Harriet as the subject, was, when Mr. Knightley arrived that evening, taking time to flesh out the outline she had managed to get down earlier.

she didn't turn from her page at the sound of his voice. "The brush actually. It's to be a water color."

She felt more than saw him lean over casting a shadow on the page and examining her work. From the corner of her eye she watched his eyes narrow and then he stood. She didn't turn to look at him until she heard the familiar creak of his chair and the sound of the newspaper rustling. Her creative juices were flowing so she looked at him with the artists eye. He was tall, the tallest man she knew. His was a commanding presence in both his face and his build. He was...

"You are not going to get me to sit for you so stop trying to picture how you would draw me." His face did not appear from behind the paper but Emma knew he was laughing at her. She stopped her thoughts and went back to her current project. She worked in silence for a good while, discerned that there was nothing more she could do without the subject present, put down her pencil and lay back on the sofa to relieve her aching back.

"What, if I may ask, induced you to start up again? You were quite put out after trying to take my brothers likeness."

This time Mr. Knightley's face did appear and there was no laughter in his tone only sincere interest. She shrugged her shoulders in a way she knew he would not approve as lady-like and replied.

"I think Harriet is such a lovely girl." Here she paused, unsure of how Mr. Knightley would react to her next statement but then continue to say what she intended. "Mr. Elton seemed keen to see me try to take her likeness."

Mr. Knightley's eyebrows went up and he frowned slightly. Emma wondered at the gesture. But he soon went back to his paper.

For thence Emma started to noticed the same look whenever Mr. Elton came up in conversation.

**GEORGE**

There was nothing more annoying than that of mixed feelings. He was happy Emma had taken up another past time. He disliked the nature of the situation. It increased the intimacy between Emma and Harriet. It was served as a reason for Elton to make himself ever more present. Although the man was decent enough all told George found the Cleric both conceited and hard to converse with on real matters.

It was a good rendition of little Miss Smith. Emma erred only in making her too tall. He said as much, smirking slightly at Emma as she revealed it in the living room. He was baiting her but without remorse. He wanted to see how she would withstand real criticism. She met his gaze evenly and had she been any younger George suspected she would have stuck out her tongue at him. She knew she'd made Harriet too tall and her eyebrows and eyes slightly different than they were drawn.

Elton immediately contradicted him. George tried to not glare the watercolor was described as "a most perfect resemblance in every feature" but he was not sure he succeeded. Elton was simply being a flatterer. It grated on him to see how Emma did not call him out on it.

Everyone finally left. Harriet to Mrs Goddard's four tea and Elton taking the painting to prepare for his trip to London to frame the likeness. Emma served the afternoon tea with that particular smirk on her pretty lips. Not that he was looking at her lips. He just knew her to be pleasing to the eye.

He took the teacup from her. "Is there something amusing?"

Emma smiled at him like sunshine through they're clouds. "You are, dear Mr. Knightley."

George rolled his eyes but asked his question anyway. "Pray tell, how am I amusing to you?"

"You were not so very concerned about Miss Smith's height were you?"

He shook his head. "I admit I am not but Emma you must concede that you did not draw her as she is."

Emma looked thoughtful. "Is that a crime?"

He felt his patience strain. Between Emma's misplaced self satisfaction and Elton's antics he was done with foolishness. He finished his tea without replying to her and as he walked back to the Abbey he tried to get to the root of his annoyance.

It is that Elton acted like he was Emma's brave defender and by that fed her vanity. He is worse for her than that Miss Smith.

He walked quicker unsettled by the frustration he felt over Elton's tactlessness and obvious flattery. How can Emma encourage him so? Does she not see? No she does not, she does not see that he means to ingratiate himself with her or she would cut him off. She will not fall for him as he hopes. Her encouragement must serve another purpose. Oh, Emma, why do your schemes make my brain hurt so much? She must think he is flattering another...most likely Miss Smith. Oh, Emma...you are a silly little thing.

His musings were cut short when he arrived home to find Robert Martin waiting for him.

* * *

A/N two things. (1) I noticed this is one of my most heavily trafficked stories so expect more dedication in the future. I've been treating this one as my "can think, just write to enjoy" story because this is easy to write unlike my HP stories. (2) _Emma Approved_ is the new vlog adaption being put out by Bernie Su and co. I am scared. I loved LBD (for the most part) but I am sincerely afraid my favorite Austen story will be ruined by their adapting it. I am EXTREMELY possessive of Emma and George Knightley. I was upset that people didn't get married at the end of LBD (I get it: modern era blah blah blah but that doesn't make marriage obsolete). So I may rant here when I like/don't like...because you are all fellow Emma fans. I will rant on my tumblr too.

Reviews are like divine blessings. please send them to me!


	9. First Argument: The During

First Argument - The During

_note - dialogue was taken heavily from Emma, chap. 8 - Jane said it better than I ever could._

EMMA

The proposal of Robert Martin to Harriet Smith had been unwelcome. Now it was over. No protracted harm done. Emma didn't have any desire to dwell on the situation and Mr. Knightley served a welcome distraction. He'd not been over since the day they first viewed the painting and that had been three days back. She smiled as her father and Mr. Knightley exchange opinions about the benefit of walking. Emma tried not to be impatient with her Father but Mr. Knightley had a particular look in his eye that said he had something particular to tell her. She refocused on the knitting in her lap but found her eyes constantly drawn back to the gentleman in front of her. Finally her father was off and although Mr. Knightley has said he would not stay long he sat and started to chat. His subject surprised Emma more than his actions. He spoke of Harriet.

"I cannot rate her beauty as you do," said he; "but she is a pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well of her disposition. Her character depends upon those she is with; but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman."

Emma set down her knitting and leaned forward to meet his even, blue gaze. "I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope, may not be wanting."

He had a teasing light in his eye. "Come, you are anxious for a compliment, so I will tell you that you have improved her. You have cured her of her school-girl's giggle; she really does you credit."

It was not a reluctant compliment and was given with a brilliant smile.

Emma nodded in gratitude. "Thank you. I should be mortified indeed if I did not believe I had been of some use; but it is not every body who will bestow praise where they may. You do not often overpower me with it."

"You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?"

She stood and moved to the door of the back parlor, looking into the front hall as if this would bring her friend. "Almost every moment. She has been gone longer already than she intended."

"Something has happened to delay her; some visitors perhaps."

Emma had been thinking the same thing. Not that it mattered that Harriet was delayed. She was enjoying being with Mr. Knightley and made her way to sit closer to him. "Highbury gossips!—Tiresome wretches!"

"Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you would."

It was the look in his eye, part schoolboy mischief and part self satisfaction that gave Emma pause. He knew something she didn't. Emma knew that his statement was too true for contradiction, and therefore said nothing. She sat then and refused to inquire about his secret knowledge as he would expect her too.

He settled back in his chair and crossed his arms over his broad chest and presently added, with a smile, "I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell you that I have good reason to believe your little friend will soon hear of something to her advantage."

Emma was piqued now. Another proposal so soon after the one from Mr. Martin would shock the poor girls system. But it would also cure her blues."Indeed! how so? of what sort?"

"A very serious sort, I assure you." He was still smiling, an infuriating smile that he wore when he felt he had the upper hand in their conversation. Everything was a competition when it came to him.

"Very serious! I can think of but one thing—Who is in love with her? Who makes you their confidant?"

Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton's having dropped a hint. Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she knew Mr. Elton looked up to him.

"I have reason to think," he replied, "that Harriet Smith will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most unexceptionable quarter:—Robert Martin is the man. Her visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have done his business. He is desperately in love and means to marry her."

Her heart almost sank. Not Mr. Elton.

Her heart rose. She had a chance to wipe the smugness off Mr. Knightley's face. He seemed much too keen to rid her of her friend.

"He is very obliging but is he sure that Harriet means to marry him?"

* * *

GEORGE

The transformation was subtle but George felt the tables being turned on him. He quickly related the conversation that he and Robert Martin had shared. Emma, sitting on the sofa by his chair listened attentively but he saw she was not intrigued or even surprised. This set a spark of annoyance through him.

Emma, who had been smiling to herself through a great part of this speech, spoke with a haughtiness that was distasteful to him."Pray, Mr. Knightley how do you know that Mr. Martin did not speak yesterday?"

He felt a frown creased his forehead. _Where are you going with this Emma?_ "Certainly, I do not absolutely know it; but it may be inferred. Was not she the whole day with you?"

Emma leaned forward, smiling even more. He was certain their faces had exchanged expressions from what they were a moment ago. "Come, I will tell you something, in return for what you have told me. He did speak yesterday—that is, he wrote, and was refused."

He froze. "Pardon?"

"He wrote yesterday and was refused."

Now he stood, feeling his face grow warm with the indignation inside, and nearly swore. Except he could not speak so in Emma's presence. "Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. What is the foolish girl about?"

Emma stood along with him. Though she came only to his shoulder the annoyance in her face and voice made up the deficit in height. "Oh! to be sure, it is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always imagines a woman to be ready for anybody who asks her."

That was not what he meant. She knew it. He knew she did. He drew his hand over his face, refusing to keep his frustration inside. "Nonsense! a man does not imagine any such thing. But what is the meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin? madness, if it is so; but I hope you are mistaken."

"I saw her answer, nothing could be clearer."

That was when everything fell to bits and pieces. It took considerable will not to release the fury that bunched inside at the smug conceit marring Emma's flawless features.

He took a step so he stood over her. His voice snapped like a riding crop. "You saw her answer! you wrote her answer too. Emma, this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse him."

Emma didn't shrink from him But then he had not wanted that. "And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing,) I should not feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, but I cannot admit him to be Harriet's equal; and am rather surprised indeed that he should have ventured to address her. By your account, he does seem to have had some scruples. It is a pity that they were ever got over."

While she spoke the look of conceit set like cement on her face. It was a look that seemed determined to take up residence there. That riled him. It was not a good look for his dear old friend. The anger made him shout. That sacred the look off her face briefly but it returned soon enough. He would have to change tactics.

"No, he is not her equal indeed, for he is as much her superior in sense as in situation. Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you…"

He kept trying to reason with her but she was not listening. He spoke more, louder, faster, as if by the sheer number of his words he could make her see what she was doing. She was holding onto something that had served it's purpose. Holding on anymore would surely harm her and Miss Smith.

Back and forth they went. He said was a good idea. She insisted, insisted it was not. Until, resisting the urge to shake her shoulders, finally he exclaimed. "Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have, is almost enough to make me think so too. Better be without sense, than misapply it as you do!"

Her face, having held a war between that poisonous conceit and a innocent confusion all through their discussion, settled into a comfortable look of playfulness. George released the breath he had not known he was holding. It caught again when she spoke.

"To be sure!" cried she playfully. "I know that is the feeling of you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly what every man delights in—what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his judgment. Oh! Harriet may pick and choose. Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you. And is she, at seventeen, just entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be wondered at because she does not accept the first offer she receives? No—pray let her have time to look about her."

He wanted to growl at the wound she inflicted his manly pride. He knew it would come to this. Everything was reduced to the outside. Miss Smiths natural shallowness was robbing Emma of her depth. The conclusion was that everything would revolve around vanity. And that road led to nowhere. He said as much, starting off coolly but rising in tone and volume as he went. After a while Emma, looking disconcerted, cut him off.

"We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more angry…"

He would have agreed with her then and there and dropped the subject. Only she kept spouting more errant nonsense until he cut her off with his harshest words yet, insulting both both Emma and Miss Smith. She looked pained but he ignored the thought.

Silence bloomed between them. Until it hit him.

She wanted Harriet to marry Elton. He saw that clearly now.

_Oh, you silly goose, can you really be so blind? _He spoke now with even more earnest. She had to listen to this or only mischief would arise and possible irreparable hurt.

"Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make an imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as anybody. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally. He is as well acquainted with his own claims, as you can be with Harriet's. He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favorite wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him speak with great animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are intimate with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece."

She didn't listen. The pain of dissatisfaction and anger nearly choked him as he took his leave. This was not going to end well. That filled him with dread that Emma would get hurt.

An errant thought passed through among the rancor. He had, possibly for the first time, been forced to think of the possibility that he might marry one day. And that was very odd.

* * *

EMMA

Never, in her 21 years of life had Emma wanted Mr. Knightley gone. Except today. They had fought. Every time he spoke it pricked her. When he stopped talking and stood, stewing, centimeters away from her it dragged the small wound a little more open. And finally when he did leave it was terse and with obvious chagrin. How could he not know that he hurt he? And if he did know then why did he do so? It had been a good decision to discourage the attachment of her friend to one when another, better might soon be on it's way. Unless Mr. Knightley was right. As he often was. But he had not seen what she had. Surely she would be proved right with time.

Harriet returned. The fight attempted to be set aside. And the day progressed.

Mr. Knightley's empty chair that evening renewed the ache in her heart and she regretted that the sun would go down without a chance to make up.

She hoped that chance would come soon. She missed her friend.

* * *

**a/n **First time blending canon with personal writing. Did it work? Was it horrid?


End file.
